Behind her, Jahrra heard Whinsey gasp. She felt her own face go white, but she kept her mouth shut. If there was any other way to flee Cahrdyarein without drawing the eye of the Red Flange, they would have taken it. She knew they had no other choice.
“Well,” she said, her voice coming out harsh and brittle, “let’s get moving, then. The sooner we reach the end of this treacherous road, the better.”
And so they set off, one slow step at a time. Ellyesce had been right. The ground was rough and littered with sharp stones. Fortunately, Phrym was sure-footed and managed to avoid most of them. The horse behind her, however, sounded as if she tripped over every other obstacle she came upon. About two hours into their journey, Jahrra turned around to check on Whinsey and her son.
“I’m fine,” the Resai woman managed with a weak smile. “This horse has large feet, and she doesn’t seem too inclined to avoid the loose stones. She just plows right through them.”
Jahrra nodded and turned back around, focusing on the other two horses in front of her. Ellyesce’s torchlight helped a little, and she counted on his elvin eyes to see beyond the flame’s limit. As they traveled, Jahrra tried not to think about Jaax and Pendric fighting off the Crimson King’s army back in Cahrdyarein. To let her imagination run wild was to invite panic. She did not want that to happen. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to study what little of her surroundings she could see. From what she had gathered so far, the cavern had curved walls, giving her the impression that it was shaped like some giant worm hole carved into the side of the mountain. Every now and again, she’d look up and catch a glimpse of daylight.
“There are several holes in the outer crust of the cavern,” Ellyesce told her over his shoulder when she asked about it. “There will be more the farther up the mountain we move, and we won’t need the torch anymore.”
“Did this cave system form naturally?” Dervit asked, pressing his hat to his head when Rumble’s hoof slipped on a stone.
“No,” the elf answered, his voice a little flat. “Legend claims that a giant serpent or dragon created it. The beast had done something to send a party of bounty hunters its way. To escape, it burrowed into the mountain, creating this very tunnel.”
“Did it get away?” Jahrra wondered aloud.
Ellyesce shook his head. “I do not know.”
The conversation ceased after that, and as the silence stretched on, punctuated by the steady rhythm of hooves striking stone and the occasional snort of the horses, everyone was left to their own thoughts.
Several miles away, at a lower elevation in the mountain range, the Tanaan dragon Raejaaxorix tucked his wings close and gained speed, heading back into Cahrdyarein. There had been more soldiers than he had anticipated. Many, many more, and he had managed to eliminate just a small portion of them in the handful of days he’d spent protecting the city from the Red Flange’s relentless wrath. A dragon could breathe only so much fire before he needed to rest and recuperate. He had finally reached his limit, and the Tyrant’s minions now poured past his defenses, heading up the treacherous road toward the city.
Yet, he could not despair. Even though their combined efforts were failing, Jaax had held the larger portion of the army off for nearly a week while Pendric’s soldiers and archers picked off those who had managed to sneak past him. But the dawn of each day only brought more of the black and red soldiers within Cahrdyarein’s gates. Like mice sneaking in through a knothole in a barn wall. Only, now thanks to Keiron, there were too many holes for Pendric and his men to keep track of, and the enemy was slowly gaining the upper hand. Jaax knew they were losing and that his time to flee to Nimbronia was at hand. He had done all he could to save this great city, but there was only one more promise he intended to keep.
The great dragon beat his wings several times, gaining speed as Cahrdyarein came into view. His heart sank as he tucked in his wings and rolled to the side, barely missing being impaled by a large spear fired by a ballista. Smoke rose from several wood buildings, and the top of the wall was swarming with soldiers, both in the silver and blue tones of Cahrdyarein and the black and red of the Crimson King. Jaax flew low over the edge of the wall, taking out a catapult and a pack of the enemy soldiers with his tail and claws, but it was like swiping a hand across a line of ants. They were gone for now, but many more would arrive to take their place.
The roar of battle rang clear in his ears, sending his mind spiraling back to another time when he had been called to fight. Jaax shook the thoughts away before they could sink their teeth deep. Those were not happy times, and he needed a clear head. He studied the scene below with an ever growing dread. There were at least five red-clad soldiers for every warrior of Cahrdyarein.
“And there are three times this many still on their way,” he whispered to the early morning air. The city was truly lost. He knew it, had known it would happen, but it was still hard to take.
He needed to find Pendric. He had to find the captain of the guard and keep his promise to Jahrra. The very thought of his ward was like a lance through his heart; as if that spear hadn’t missed him after all. That girl had better be far, far away with Ellyesce keeping a close watch on her. But knowing Jahrra, she might have found a way to slip free and return to the city. Either to help Pendric, or to search for that worthless Resai elf who had brought all of this down on their heads. Rage boiled through Jaax once again, and he released a few jets of emerald fire, carefully aimed at the enemy.
The Tanaan dragon flattened his wings and banked right, starting a new lap around the city. The shouts and screams of the battle below engulfed him, urging him to leave the chaos behind and head for Nimbronia. But first, he had to find the captain of the guard.
-Chapter Eighteen-
A City in Ruin
Pendric clenched his teeth as his knees cracked against the hard stone of the wall walk, the two enemy soldiers restraining him making no effort to be gentle. For five long days, he and the brave Resai men and women of Cahrdyarein had fought hard against the invading army of the Crimson King. Dervit’s warning nearly a week ago had given them a slight advantage, but like a sailing crew working desperately to patch up a sinking ship, Pendric and his soldiers had been spread too thin trying to guard every hidden entrance into Cahrdyarein. With Keiron’s help, the city had been breached, and it was only a matter of hours now before it belonged entirely to the invaders.
The captain of the guard tried not to let that despairing thought seize him as his captors continued to press heavy hands onto his shoulders. He resisted their attempts to force him down any farther. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was already kneeling. He would not bend and touch the ground with his forehead, no matter how hard they tried to get him to do so.
Despite being on the losing side in this outcome, he would not forget his pride in front of the soldiers who still looked up to him for leadership. Well, what soldiers that remained, at least. As Pendric knelt, waiting patiently for the blow of an axe or a sword, he forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose. They would execute him. He had no doubt about that. But, he would await his fate bravely and without fear, as his predecessor had taught him.
Minutes passed, and still nothing happened. Pendric closed his eyes and let his other senses take over. The first thing he took note of was the sound of battle raging on all around him. The clash of steel, the soft swish of arrows gliding through the air, the low rumble of a thousand or more voices crying out for blood, vengeance and death. A very primitive war song disrupted only by the occasional fierce cry of someone experiencing sudden pain. Pendric breathed in deeply, the air tinged with the sharp, metallic scent of blood and the acrid stench of smoke. He wrinkled his nose, realizing the wooden roofs of houses weren’t the only victims of fire. The cold morning air chilled his sweat-soaked skin, and he had to fight a shiver. He would not let the filth that held him in place think he feared them.